


It takes bricks to build a wall

by Multifandom_damnation



Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heart-to-Heart, Loss of Parent(s), Past Character Death, Post-Canon, Protective Arthur, Protective Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29691870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation
Summary: Nobody knew quite what to make of the new king.They had expected him to be arrogant. They had never expected him to be kind.But Wet Stick does. Blue does. Back Lack did.
Relationships: Arthur & Blue (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	It takes bricks to build a wall

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote this, but I really enjoyed this movie and just couldn't help myself

Nobody knew quite what to make of the new king.

They had expected him to be arrogant. They had never expected him to be kind. 

Not just kind, but polite, and hard-working, and eager to interact with every member of his court, even those with the lowly status of peasant. When he can spare a moment, he wandered down to the streets to over-see their repairs and to greet the people, listen to their stories, entertain the children. He would be just like them if it weren't for the sword that hung from his belt, the only indication of his status.

The walls were rebuilt under his watchful eye, and all of King Vortigern's possessions were either returned to their rightful owners or destroyed. Those who had been left rotting in the prisons were released or granted a fair trial. Those who were out of the job due to Vortigern's misdeeds were reinstated or found new employment. The slaves that Vortigern kept as insurance were returned to their families or given loving places to stay and the dreadful king's large sum of coffers were divided up and portioned out to the people.

And that was only during his first month.

When he wasn't busy supervising the rebuilding or dealing with the new laws in the court, he was holed up in the main atrium, building something with his bare hands and very little help. Rumours had begun to spread of a large wooden structure decorated with intricately detailed designs, unfinished but no less marvellous.

From the moment he had returned from the Darklands, Bedivere had known that Arthur was destined to be a great king, not just for the sword he wielded or the man who came before him, but for the honour and kindness and determination that had been fostered in his heart since his early childhood. Sometimes, Arthur would catch him starring and would wrap an arm around his shoulders with the air of an old friend, and would look out over the city, _his_ city, and would say "I told you not to worry, Bedivere. I'll have this place ship-shape in no time."

And of that Bedivere did not doubt.

The Mage stayed away, but occasionally Arthur caught sight of a familiar giant eagle circing the city and landing nearby on the balustrades before it flew away on the wind. The Knights fell into their duties easily, aiding in construction and undoing all of Vortigan's wrongs. Percival was charged with digging through the rubble of Vortigern's tower to ensure nothing had survived, and Goosefat was sent down below to aid those unable to walk on their own out of the dungeons, where he was reunited with Rubio, and he was taken to a cleric.

But despite handling his new kingly duties and having his fingers in too many pies, Arthur never forgot where he had come from or who had helped him along the way.

One mid-day morning, while Arthur was finishing up his chat with Vortigern's former ladies in waiting turned Arthur's eaves-dropping spies, Wet Stick approached him and pulled him onto a balcony. He looked healthy and well-rested, but frazzled and on-edge. "I assume you haven't been told what occurred last night. With Blue."

Blue had been bestowed the honour of Arthur's squire, and while he never did anything particularly squire-ly, Arthur enjoyed his company and took comfort in the banter they indulged in when wandering around the square and watched the people pass.

"No, I didn't," Arthur frowned. He glanced down to where Blue was sitting in a patch of grass in the palace gardens, the sun warming his back, a book in his lap and a black-feathered quill in his hand. "What did I evidently miss?"

"Nothing drastic, nothing wrong," Tristian was quick to correct him. "I heard rumour from some of the maidens that he awoke screaming in the middle of the night, so loudly and fearfully that they thought a demon had entered the halls. They could not comfort him. He pushed them away and ran from the castle, and had not been seen since. I knew that he was taught well enough to run and hide, but I still worry about him."

Worrying at his lip, Arthur glanced down at the young boy in the gardens. "I thought he was doing alright. That he was enjoying it here. I never thought that he would... well. It goes to show what I really know, doesn't it?

"Don't bite at your lip. It may be fitting for some peasant boy, but it's unbecoming of a king," Wet Stick teased gently as he nudged Arthur's shoulder. But his eyes also fell to the young boy, hunched over in the gardens, lit by the sun. "He misses his father. He must, because I miss him too."

Taking a deep breath, Arthur rested both his hands on the sturdy stone balustrade, possibly as his father had done during times of war or stress, and he let it out through his nose. "As do I," he admitted. "I will speak to him. See if I can't... lift his spirits. I may even let him play with the sword."

"Don't promise him that," Wet Stick warned. "He may not be able to use the sword the way you can, but someone is bound to lose a finger with it in his hands."

"I am a reasonable king," Arthur argued as he pushed away from the wall. "I will be supervising the whole time."

"Why does that fail to fill me with any confidence?" Wet Stick mused as Arthur passed him, and laughed at the gesture Arthur offered over his shoulder. "Oh, that's why."

So silently, Arthur strolled through the many cobblestone hallways that made up his new palace until he reached the palace gardens, nodding cordially at any passers-by who greeted him with awe and reverence. Blue had his back to him, his hair glowing in the sun. It was longer now, and Arthur was reminded of how clean his father kept it, and made sure to remember to ask someone to tend to it. He was small and spritely, and Arthur would never forget the way he screamed and fought as Arthur heaved him in his arms and pulled him away from the scene of his dying father. Despite all the battles he's been in, those scars were the ones Arthur would carry forever, the horizontal divots from where Blue's little nails had dug into his flesh so hard he bled.

His footfalls were silent on the plush grasses as Arthur crawled his way across the gardens. He watched him in the stillness for a moment, and Blue only glanced up when Arthur sat beside him with the age-old groan of aching joints. "I missed my faithful shadow today," he spoke into the silence. "You were absent for a wonderful joke. I don't recall it now, but it was very good, and revolved around a horse."

Subdued, Blue glanced up over the kingdom, squinting in the morning sun. "What do you want?"

Arthur chuckled. "What do I want? Why that's a bloody good question. I want to know what happened last night, and why you've run all the way out here."

He felt Blue tense beside him. "Why do you care?"

"Because I like you," Arthur leant his weight into Blue, and Blue scowled. "And I want to make sure you're alright. You're not some dirty street-rat, son of a crook now, Blue. You matter, to the kingdom, and to me. So when I hear tell of you screaming my castle down and running like the demon was on your tail, I want to know why."

There was a long pause where Blue said nothing. He glanced back down at the book in his lap, the quill discarded and sniffled. "He wasn't a crook," he managed, voice thick. "He was a good man."

"Aye," Arthur nodded, wrapping his arm around Blue's shoulders. "Nobody knows that more than me, lad."

Leaning against him, Blue buried his face into Arthur's side and curled up in his arms. "I dreamt of that bastard king," Blue admitted haltingly. Arthur didn't need any clarification. "And my dad, when he-" he cut himself off. "When he cut off his ears."

Arthur remembered it well. Remembered watching from the doorway, hidden from sight by old, rotting wood as Blue stammered lies in that bold, brave way his father had taught him. Remembered the sound of the dagger tearing through flesh and bone and cartilage, the splatter of blood, the garbled cry of Back Lack, Blue's anguished, desperate pleas-

He remembered holding Blue flush against him in the boat, bundled in wraps, as the city burned and his father burned with it.

Neither of them spoke. Arthur didn't know what to say. With Blue curled up against his side, he somehow seemed even smaller than usual. He looked tired and sullen, and thin like he had seen too many wars and too little winters. He glanced up from Blue's long bronze locks- Bedivere and Goosefat stood watching in the corner of the garden, far off but observing. A silent eagle was perched in the branches above their heads, vigilant.

"Nobody knew your father better than me. Me and Wet Stick," Arthur murmured into Blue's hair. Blue sniffled. "He was a good man. One of the best I ever knew. As are you- he would be so proud of you, and all you have done. You're as good a man as he ever could have hoped for, and you ought to know it."

Blue buried his face into Arthur's tunic, the familiar, worn fabric growing wet with tears. Arthur tightened his hold around his shoulders, securing him tight to his side. "I miss him."

"I know," Arthur sighed. He reached out and gently prodded the journal in Blue's lap with a finger. "What's this?"

Wiping at his leaking nose, Blue pulled away just enough to flick through the pages. "It's a letter. For pa," he sniffed. "I write them whenever I dream about him, and when the book is full, I'm going to burn it. As a goodbye. That's what he told me to do when our dog died, and when ma passed."

Nodding, Arthur rested his chin on Blue's crown. "That's very mature of you."

"Pa always said that, that I was mature for my age. He said that made him proud," Blue said. Arthur couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a hint of smugness in his voice. He smiled- he would take anything that he could get.

"I think he would be proud of more than your maturity if he could see you now," Arthur assured. Blue pulled away, and Arthur dropped his arm to his side. Sensing the moment over, he said. "I'll be around if you need me, yeah? Don't be afraid to bother me. I'd be happy to chat."

Blue nodded sullenly as Arthur stood and dusted off his pants. He padded back towards the castle walls, where Wet Stick was waiting for him, eagerly expecting his arrival. "Well?" he demanded. "How is he?"

"Alright. He misses his father, which is to be expected," Arthur put his hands in his pockets. Wet Stick snorted, shook his head. "But I suspect he'll be fine."

"You're sure?" Wet Stick glanced over his shoulder back towards Blue, who was clutching the book in his hands and basking in the sunlight.

Arthur followed his gaze. "His strong, like his dad. He'll get through this. I know it."

So Arthur returned to his new kingly duties, his Knights by his side, and not long after his squire came wandering up, grinning and laughing and providing welcome commentary as Arthur went about his day, demanding to be told some outrageous joke about a horse.


End file.
